


Breaking Apart

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty is trying to defuse an explosion; he can't get away in time. When he wakes up, he can't remember his wife or son.<br/>This is my part of an impromptu drabble exchange between me and a friend on Tumblr. I'll be posting my part here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Apart

He’d known that the old engine had to go sometime. It wasn’t his fault, however, when it decided to explode while he was standing next to it, trying his best to patch it up. No one else had really been around. It was a relatively inconsequential part of Engineering, so he was the only one who was caught by the flame and shrapnel. He hadn’t blacked out immediately; there had been enough time to hear other’s work boots sprinting towards where he lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood before blessed darkness had enveloped him.  
He’d faintly woken up at the jolt of being placed on a biobed, an oxygen tube forced into his nose. He saw Christine, standing over him, with what he called her work face firmly in place. He felt safer, now, with the knowledge that she was there to keep him safe. He went under again when he felt a needle slip into his arm, and a sedative rushed into his veins.  
He stayed in the dark for a long time. There was no one there with him, but that was okay. It was safe and warm, and he didn’t really feel the need to do anything. Time passed by, and he heard, very faintly, talking sometimes, and sometimes imagined that someone was touching him, but the sensations faded eventually. Everything did.  
One day- was it day? He had no way of tracking time- he heard a different kind of noise. It was louder than other things, and he had a strange compulsion to follow it, so he did. As he moved towards the sound, he registered that there was more light reaching him than before. It wasn’t painful; simply different. As he went on and it got brighter, it even started to feel good. Finally, he reached the source- a bright white light, seeming to sing to him. He reaches out to touch it.  
And he wakes up in a bed. There’s some kind of beeping noise behind him, and a soft hand is on top of his. It’s cold, and he jerks it away. He tries to sit up, startled, and sees the woman who must have been the one singing. She’s startled, too- white as a sheet, and her hand’s shaking a little as it rises to her mouth. “Scotty?” she whispers.  
He can’t remember why, but he breathes, “Christine?”  
She faints dead away, and someone else comes rushing in- a man, who immediately begins giving him a standard medical exam. He can do nothing but stammer answers, and when he gets a word in, ask, “Wha’s wrong with her? Who is she?”  
The man stops dead. Closes his eyes, rests his hands on the rails of the bed.  
"She’s your wife." he says.


End file.
